


no room for the devil

by clairelutra (exosolarmoon)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Honey Trap, Makeouts, Not at the same time, Violence, again sorta, it's the enemies au, sexy violence but not violent sex u feel, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: Honey traps: the escape tactics of the young, attractive, and distractable.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [no room for jesus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201424) by [clairelutra (exosolarmoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra). 



> [caprette](http://caprette.tumblr.com/) asked for this, once upon a time, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away :'D 
> 
> this goes out to you, cap /o/
> 
> (this is a remix of one of my previous oneshots, 'no room for jesus', in an au where ladybug and chat noir are mortal enemies instead of teammates.)
> 
>  
> 
> _never wanted to dance with nobody but you_   
>  _never wanted to dance with nobody but you_   
>  _never wanted to dance with nobody but you_   
>  _wouldn't take "no" for an answer, you fucking **bitch**_
> 
> -mindless self indulgence, "never wanted to dance"

Four minutes and twenty-two seconds.

Ladybug had four minutes and twenty-two seconds.

She leaned against the pillar behind her, her chosen hiding place, and clenched her lucky charm in a trembling fist.

Chat Noir paced behind her, a level down on the flat roof.

“Here, Buga-Buga-Bugaboo,” he purred, edges of malice and barely-contained fury roughening his voice and the cataclysm hissing and crackling in his hand. “Come on out — I promise I don’t _bite!_ ”

He ended on a snarl, and only Ladybug’s self-preservation kept her from snorting in disbelief.

She had a feeling ‘biting’ wasn’t exactly what was on his mind right now.

If she wanted to make it out of this, she needed a plan...

(Three minutes and fifty six seconds.)

...Though it was awfully hard to think of one when the only thing she could hear over her pounding heart was the light scrape of Chat Noir’s boots padding ever closer.

She had a pair of red-and-black-spotted goggles and three minutes and forty-eight seconds and no plan.

She might be a little bit fucked.

She bit her tongue and stifled her breathing as Chat passed her hiding spot, wondering how she could stifle her pulse too.

Too close. He’d gotten much too close.

Too close, but he showed no signs of stopping. He didn’t slow as he passed the pillar, still calling out for 'Bugaboo’ (as if she’d ever respond to such a dumb name), and Ladybug almost, _almost_ thought he’d pass her by.

(Three minutes and forty-three seconds.)

And then, subconsciously, she tightened her grip on the goggles, tight enough to make the rubber squeak.

Chat stopped.

It was all the warning she had before the pillar crumbled behind her, revealing a furious Chat Noir striding through the settling dust, mouth twisted into something _he_ probably thought was a smile.

“ _Checkmate_ , Bugaboo,” echoed around Ladybug in the empty space behind her, light glinting off his staff as it spun. It ( _he_ ) looked only slightly less deadly than it actually was.

Ladybug didn’t need to think twice — she ran.

(Three minutes and thirty-six seconds.)

Her flight didn't last long, and she hadn’t thought it would; she’d been fighting non-stop for about five hours, now (first the akuma, then Chat), and she was ready to drop where she stood.

(The really terrifying thing about Chat was that he _never stopped._ He _always_ got back up. She could kick his ass six ways to Sunday and he’d still be ready to go for the seventh round. She could take him down, but she couldn’t _keep_ him down, and in marathon battles like this one, she was at a profound disadvantage. All it would take was one little slip and she'd be at his cataclysm's mercy.)

(Chat. _Mercy_. Haha.)

Her flight lasted twelve seconds, and then he was on her again, staff swinging.

After another two minutes and twenty-six seconds of frantic struggle, her back hit the wall, muscled forearm held tight against her throat and bar of steel braced against the wall next to her.

She had fifty-eight seconds left, and both the goggles and her yo-yo had slipped from her fingers somewhere in that fight.

She might be more than a little bit fucked.

“Checkmate,” Chat repeated, panting this time, the low timbre of his voice and the hot air fanning over her throat making Ladybug shudder.

She snarled back wordlessly, too breathless for actual words. He had her feet dangling, helpless, nearly a foot above the ground with the brace around her neck and a knee between her legs, and it _hurt_.

Fifty-four seconds.

She had to think her way out of this. She _had_ to. 

If she didn't...

Fifty-two seconds.

It didn't bear thinking about.

Absently, she licked her dry, cracking lips, trying clear her head as she did it.

Chat froze, cool air replacing the steady rhythm of his breathing.

_…Hm?_

Experimentally, she licked her lips again.

She felt it that time, the tiny intake of a gasp, the slight tensing of the muscles in his arm and thigh, followed by a minute relaxing.

Fifty seconds.

Fifty seconds, and Chat Noir was staring at her mouth with bright, dark, _intense_ eyes, his own mouth gone slack and vulnerable around the corners.

She couldn’t have said how she knew what that look was, but she did.

Wanting.

That look was _wanting._

Ladybug scented blood.

Her panic morphed into triumph, her desperation into bloodlust, her hate into _hunger_ , her veins roaring with an unholy concoction of gleeful aggression and adrenaline.

She had a plan.

Ladybug had forty-nine seconds and a _plan_.

Forty-eight seconds to go saw her staring deep into his eyes and twisting her head.

Forty-seven and her tongue was pressing against the cool metal next to her face, suggestive hum vibrating in her throat.

Forty-six and his grip was slackening, her heart was pounding in her ears and her throat and her fingertips, and she was starting to hope.

Forty-five and she drew her tongue back into her mouth, watching him watch her mouth like a man hypnotized.

Forty-four and she knew she should run, should take this chance to escape while he was stunned stupid.

Forty-three and she wondered why she wasn’t.

At forty-two seconds left, she stopped counting.

She measured time instead by the groan rumbling deep in Chat’s chest as she pulled his hair, by the hollow clank of metal hitting the ground and bouncing on the concrete, by the throb of her heart as it almost, _almost_ synced up to his.

She measured time by the hot, hot, hot strokes of his tongue, by the drag of his claws skidding over her suit, up her sides, by the seeping awareness of his poison slipping into her veins.

She measured time by the heat knotting in her core from the tremors running through Chat head-to-foot as she sank her teeth into his lip.

She was running out breath, and she was running out of time.

Breaking away from him was harder, much less _conclusive_ than it should have been. Even after the late-afternoon air started to cool her fever-heated lips, the hooks remained, venom injected past her armor and and slinking down, down, down into her gut and into her mind, and she _hated_ it.

Hated that this was all it took to make her burn and make her _want_.

Her earrings didn’t allow her the luxury of stewing in her hated.

She had twenty seconds left.

“Ch-ch-checkmate,” she stuttered, his reddened mouth and glazed eyes hurriedly filed away for later, and shoved him away.

He stumbled, staggered, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sag against the wall as she plucked her Lucky Charm and yo-yo off the ground.

She’d destroyed him, but she had no time to think, no time to ruminate, no time to celebrate; she only had eighteen seconds to get as far away as she possibly could before he put himself together again and gave chase.

She ran.


End file.
